


The Long Night Ahead

by Coymoonrising



Series: Anders Drabbles [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Anxiety, Gen, Insomnia, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-04 23:26:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4156953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coymoonrising/pseuds/Coymoonrising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders can't sleep, and it isn't for lack of trying. He's exhausted, but anxiety is a hell of a stimulant and it torments him in the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Long Night Ahead

Anders couldn’t sleep. He lay back, staring at the back of his eyelids and hoping for a miracle that he did not expect to come and it was not for lack of trying. His body was furious with him, and existence was a brutal show of force as each passing second was another pinprick tempting him to lose control. Weighted down by his own flesh, Anders wondered as he watched the flashes of misshapen light whether he would be able to move the next time he was uncomfortable on his cot. Even his eyes hurt, and keeping his face still was an exercise in itself when at any moment he feared fury would take his mind away.

Why did this always happen? He supposed it was no use wondering, but he imagined himself clenching his fists and gritting vicious teeth despite his body failing to respond. The silence in the room was unbearable, and if he could have Anders would have screamed and pulled out his hair in a fit of unbridled, desperate rage. Maker, he was so tired—tired of this, tired of the exhaustion, tired of feeling so raw. And each day was another boulder to be pushed uphill when he felt this way, which was far more often than he liked. And he wasn’t the only one who noticed—“moody” could always be found in a list of adjectives people used to describe him. But they didn’t know the half of it. Aptly named, the rib cage held back all the things he forced into the depths. Words that should have been said, feelings that could never be openly expressed, thoughts that ought never to have been born—they all had a place locked tightly behind the fragile enclosure of bone and tissue. Someday, Anders thought that he would splinter and collapse. And he wasn’t always sure he disliked that idea.

The nights always seem curiously longer than the days for the anxious mind, and Anders let out a sigh designed to vent his frustration but also to defuse the sudden uproar from within. He felt an unwelcome wetness begin to tingle at the corners of his eyes, and he breathed deeply. Each pump of air was a push, seeking to drown those emotions in the wretched depths where they belonged. But it was becoming so much harder to control when sleep deprivation beat him raw. This feeling—this was something he would not wish upon his enemies, and he had plenty to wish worse upon. His heart pounded, and his cheeks pulled back of their own accord to do that ugly thing they did when he cried. But hands shot up from beneath the blanket to press against his lids, twisting against them as his fingers drilled into his forehead and temples.

Do. Not. Do this.

He breathed, hearing the aching sound of his own voice as a heated growl. Do not do this, he thought again, and another loaded breath hissed between his teeth. He dragged his fingers down across his face, pulling open his eyes to view the near pitch black of the broom closet he called a room. Cascading in from the few high windows of the clinic, silvery moonlight stretched the shadows of his patients across the floor. It searched their faces, allowing the lines of their pain to be seen across their faces even in the night. And it peeked in to check on their healer, too, gazing through the small crack in his door and leaving a slice of tinted light down the colorless wall beside his bed. Anders tilted his head just enough to see the doorway and he glanced down, unsurprised to see the bowl of milk untouched. Even Justice had been quiet tonight, and Anders considered how unusual it was for him to feel this alone these days. Even surrounded by his patients and even with Justice inside his mind, these sort of nights were unbearably lonely. He strummed his thumbs against his fingers and tried to imagine the sensation of soft fur beneath them.

Perhaps he ought to do something to pass the time? At least get himself out of this rut, at any rate. He sorely wanted to, but the thought of leaving the bed sent another shot of cold anxiety through his blood. What would he do, anyway? Stumble in the dark for the candle he put out hours ago and then continue his work on his manifesto? No. His thoughts had no words anymore, and they swirled inside a brain that felt more like a burnt tree after a lightning storm. Smoke veiled his thoughts from any sort of clarity, and the best he could hope to write about was the nightmares he used to have as an apprentice about the Harrowing. Friends of his who never came back after being snatched in the night, or worse—their faces sought him out even in his modern day dreams, blending in with the darkspawn and the Archdemons to march along the dark hallways of the Circle tower side-by-side with the Templars. Each night they put another Tranquil on display, and the last face Anders saw before he awoke was the one face he couldn’t bear to see suffering so. Karl never deserved that. He should have been saved. He could have been saved. He could have been saved.

Maker, he almost begged, I just want this to stop. I just want to sleep. Please.

But an all-consuming tension pinned him where he lay, burning fiercely below his diaphragm and keeping his muscles coiled like springs. And every thought seemed to spiral out of control in a heady overflow of warped images and chaotic whims. Anders closed his eyes again, his jaw loose but brow knit tightly as he forced his breath into slow and steady streams. In, and out. In, and out. In, and out. He focused on the thought, hearing the words in his head: in, and out. In, and out. In, and out. It dimmed the tense fire under his ribs a bit, shifting his attention to the uneasiness in his gut. A swear clawed itself from his throat and he hurled himself onto his side on a groaning bedframe.

He wished someone were with him. But at the same time, the idea repulsed him. The idea of contact with another human at this hour drove his hands into fits. But he didn’t want to do this alone. He felt Justice pulse weakly, mentally envisioning the spirit’s message: he wasn’t alone. Not entirely, anyway. Not anymore.

Anders curled up as small as he could, pressing his knuckles into his cheek against the pillow. He sighed again, and he almost felt relief. It was simple for Justice to say, when spirits didn’t need to sleep. Did they sleep at all? Anders didn’t really care, not at that moment. But he was helpless to do anything but let the thoughts roam. He cringed, biting down on his fingers to draw his mind to a singular point.

A sharp intake of breath announced a partial takeover, and Anders felt himself shift backwards ever so slightly as Justice pushed to the forefront. He could see a few crackling lines across his nose, though they were small and dim—hardly noticeable, considering their usual flare. When his heart began to slow and the next breath left him, Anders felt his body relax. Exhaustion took the weight of the tension and threatened to crush him, and he wanted to tell Justice that he would just keep them awake. Images and broken thoughts flashed in his head in response, and Anders translated the idea as best he could: neither of them in full control meant the best of both worlds. In his own mind, Anders would still be lost to his thoughts. But Justice would take the body and relax it enough to draw in the elusive creature of sleep. Together, they would put an end to this.

Anders couldn’t remember anything until mid-morning the following day as his eyes tore themselves open for what felt like the first time.

“Oh,” he groaned, staring at the sunlight singeing his corneas through the cracked door. A headache pounded against his skull, and to his unpleasurable delight Anders lacked the focus to channel his mana and whisk the problem away. But he stretched, feeling every creek and defiant tug of sinew as it revitalized him, and he felt—better. It was a term he used lightly, but nonetheless, the breath he let out was significantly lighter than those last few he could recall.

He couldn’t feel Justice anymore, but he extended sincere thanks he knew would be received.

The unfamiliar weight on his legs as he tried to rise alarmed Anders for a brief second. A startled chirp accompanied the sensation of warmth and fur, and the cat settled back down atop his knees as Anders fell back with the widest grin. Maybe he could stay in bed for a little while longer.


End file.
